The Tri-corder reading says: "It's all Bollocks, Captain"

The Advertising Standards watchdog has unbelievably refused to condemn those well known intellectual giants: Katie Price and Rio Ferdinand despite revels-ations that the devilishly fiendish pair had duped people into buying chocolate bars against their will.

Both had used their phenomenal mind power to deceive people in a series of tweets that were NOT clearly marked as adverts.

But-tons of people are unhappy about the decision and feel that the issue has been fudge-d.

“What sort of cad-burys references to chocolate in their tweets?

‘Twix-t you and me I thinks that’s deplorable” said a devastated Jason Stupid.

“I read Rio’s treets and my mind was all in a t-wirl…before I knew what was happening I found that I had driven down to Asdas and purchased a multi-pack of Snickers bars instead of the quarter pound of skunk I’d been planning to buy”.

Rebecca Gormless was another person trapped by this vicious, dastardly campaign that strikes at the very heart of our democratic society:

“I drew all my savings out of the bank and murdered a couple of pensioners…all so I could buy more Snickers bars….I feel dirty and abused. I’ve not stopped crying since I heard. I feel like my life has been a fraud”.

Both accused Price and Ferdinand of lion to their followers on twitter.

“How Dairy Milk his followers like that?” said Jason.“He’s supposed to be a rolo model. But when it came down to the Crunch-ie put his grubby sponsorship money before his fans. Well I’m done with thinkingabout chocolate – there’s no milky way he’ll catch me outagain”.

A Mars spokesperson said that things had got out of hand.“I don’t know how all this fuss aeros. It’s easy to criticise butonce people take the time-out to think about it they’ll realise that selling chocolate is no picnic.”

It’s been heartbreaking to hear about the fall from grace of my former screen favourites:

“The Teletubsters”

According to my mate Derek this is what has happened to them since their all-too-short careers ended:

Lilo

Tragically no longer able to sing or dance after Poo went mental and shoved his scooter up her arse. They had an off screen fight when Poo did an article for “OK” magazine but then found out Lilo got twice the money he did from the rival glossy magazine: “Ey-O” . She hit rock bottom when vandals slashed her bouncy ball – she got depressed and her weight ballooned to 52 stone.

Her ridiculously long spiky antenna left her trapped on the dodgems at Thorpe Park for 18 hours, after which she turned to drugs. Now riddled with arthritis it is pathetic to see her each year when – despite being restricted to using a zimmer frame – she tries to gatecrash the qualifying rounds of “Britain’s Got Talent” in ever more bizarre and unconvincing disguises.

Stinky Winky

Has tried to scrape a living selling: “The Big Issue” but struggles to pronounce it. Gets pissed down the pub most nights with the also washed up Andy Pandy. Done for benefit fraud after Investigators caught him doing an evening job – hanging upside down as a coathanger in the “George” section of Asda.

Poo

The smallest and most annoying of the original “Tubsters”. Made a complete twat of himself by wrapping rubber bands around his antenna and entering Wimbledon – though he still beat the British number 1 seed in straight sets. He was most recently sighted at a fairground stall making up the numbers in the “Hook-a-duck” game.

Dipshit

…is the only one making a good living…but, unfortunately, does so in the porn film industry. He was put on the sex offenders register after he was exposed in the press for using the “noo..noo…noo…” (a machine from the series) for his personal sexual gratification. In his last film: “Dips, lips and nips” he is mainly seen with desperate women sitting on his head simulating sex and begging him to give them his: “Tubby Custard”. Refuses to accept that his career in kids TV is over and, in an ugly incident with racist overtones, chanted: “Whack-a-Pakka” as he beat up Makka Pakka (from “In the Night Garden“).

Don’t deprive yourself of the pleasure of being dragged from the shower to answer the door to yet another BRILLIANT money saving offer from an energy provider…

..nor is there is any need to forego the heart-warming sight of another clipboard wielding market researcher or charity collector..

…and why not embrace the opportunity to purchase all sorts of useless shite from charlatans posing as penniless students…?

ALL you will need to do is to print off the poster below and pin it up on your front door. I sometimes add to the effect by throwing some fresh bits of liver and kidney at the notice and letting it splatter on the doorstep – that really gets the party going.

After the collapse of the Fish pedicure business the poor things have been floundering around for new careers. It really has been a shame.

But now my mate Dennis – who is sort of our local equivalent to Sir Anal Sugar – has seen a business opportunity and snapped up all the dis-plaiced aquarians for his new venture.

He has started a similar line of shops whereby he puts the little fellas to work chewing off peoples ‘klinkers’.

The shops are called:

Our Sole Pleasure

It’s like the pedicure set-up except you dunk your arse in the tank (you don’t have to be sat in the shop window but some seem to prefer it) and let the fish get to work, clearing away the bits that you failed to reach with the traditional Andrex approach.

There have been some early teething troubles – one tank shattered under a chav’s weight and cut their bum to ribbons and there was an unfortunate occasion when a random piranha got in the tank and shredded a bloke’s gonads.

I asked my mate Jock O’Bernstein (or – as we call him –” Taff the sheep-shagger”) where he stood on racism and his answer was:

“The black bloke’s head”

..a reply that pretty much sums up his lack of understanding of some of the issues.

For a United Kingdom of English, Irish, Scottish and Welsh* people presided over by a Queen of Germanic descent – with a Greek husband – we can be a remarkably intolerant nation.

About the only time you find the Welsh, Scottish, Irish and English** in one place are in a (probably racist) joke “at the pub”.

Perhaps I was not the only one to scan the news on the recent slaughter in the Egyptian football stadium for the phrase: “…believed to have started when some English football fans…”

Well, as I expect John Terry was saying to Anton Ferdinand;

all this unpleasantness needs to stop.

Times SHOULD have changed. In the old days it was entirely acceptable (standard Foreign Policy even) to sail to a country, claim it for God and (British) Queen. Then – after a quick 15 minute shouted pep talk about Christianity – leave a few Bibles (printed in English naturally) and clear off with all the valuable stuff (fair exchange = no robbery). Several die-hards have tried to resurrect the practice on our behalf at International Football Tournaments but it is becoming SOOO Dark Ages.

The basic rules seem clear enough: No insults based on skin colour, Ethnicity , Nationalist Stereotypes or sexual orientation. The onus is on the aggressor to take every reasonable step to determine skin hue, family history and preferred choice of sexual partner BEFORE abusing and/or committing physical assault on his/her preferred victim(s).

It MIGHT be best to get any prospective recipient(s) of gratuitous violence to complete – AND sign – a questionnaire before getting underway. Then stash it/them safely about your person (preferably where they are unlikely to get too blood-spattered) ready for later inspection.

One that – despite years of therapy – I will never shake off was for the:

“Werthers” original sweetie…

I don’t know whether it was the tone of the voiceover, the words in the narrative or something else… but instead of portraying an image of treasured childhood memories..it came over more like a documentary on: “How to be a paedophile”.

“I’ll ALWAYS remember my first Werthers original….!”

(of course he will – his arse was sore for weeks afterwards)

“Grandad” was staring FAR too intently at the grandchild (target/victim) and was practically salivating..and – whilst his lower half was out of shot – my money says the old boy’s trousers were down around his ankles.